


One

by icygrace



Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Future Fic, Humor/Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, family fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidfic. The twins' first birthday.</p><p>Can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One

“Isn’t it a little early for this?” Michael asks skeptically. They’ve only just woken the twins up with a very off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” and their morning bottles. They’ve got a big shindig planned at home when summer swimming’s over, but they couldn’t let the babies’ actual birthday pass unremarked, so the family and friends who made it out to Nationals will be coming by their suite later that day.

 

“Nope, we gotta practice.” Ryan removes the cover with a flourish. “You gotta be patriotic. Lil’ Americans and all,” he explains proudly.

 

It’s strawberry shortcake with the birthday greeting spelled out in blue icing.

 

“So everybody’s gonna sing to you and then when they’re done, you gotta do this.” Ryan takes a deep breath, puffing his cheeks up, and mimes blowing it out. “Like this, guys.” No dice, but Ryan keeps trying.

 

It takes a couple elbows to the ribs before Michael realizes he’s supposed to do the same, try and see if the twins follow him.

 

“Look at Dad, just like that.”

 

Lo tries, but all she manages is to frustrate herself. Ollie just pats their cheeks, bemused at their silly faces.

 

But Ryan isn’t deterred from showing their kids some birthday fun. He runs a finger along the back of the cake.

 

“You really shouldn’t –”

 

Ryan ignores him and swipes cream across the babies’ faces. “Not like you can see it.”

 

Ollie giggles, but Lo scrunches up her nose, making what Bob calls “the Phelps face.” She crossly wipes at her cheek and frowns suspiciously at Ryan. He deserves it – after all, he’s got another dollop of cream ready and waiting. 

 

“Daddy’s mean, isn’t he?” Michael asks Lo, tilting his head sympathetically.

 

“‘ean,” Lo echoes accusingly.

 

“Ols doesn’t think so, do you, lil’ bro?” Ryan offers the cream to Ollie, who trustingly opens his mouth and clearly likes it. In fact, Ollie drags a chubby finger along the back of the cake just like Ryan had and claps it against his mouth, looking proud of himself.

 

“Oh God, you’ve created a monster.”

 

“Calm your tits, MP, it’s just a little –”

 

Ollie grabs a fistful from the center of the cake – the letters “RTHD” – and tries to shove it in his mouth.

 

“Ollie, shit, no, don’t. No. _Oliver!_ ” It’ll take a while to scrub the cake out of his hair.

 

Michael just laughs. “That, baby girl, is called karma,” he tells Lo in a conspiratorial whisper, tapping her on the nose.

 

\---

 

“I’m only containing myself _because of_ _the children_ , Ryan,” Kristin hisses.

 

Kristin had frowned upon seeing that the twins were wearing identical loud, colorful t-shirts with 1s on them – chosen by Ryan, of course – on their big day instead of nice party clothes, like a frilly dress for Lo. “God, Ryan, I don’t know, pink or white, or even blue to match her eyes or just – not _that_.”

 

The frown only grew when she spotted the generic birthday cake Michael managed to track down during prelims. Considering Ryan brought the situation upon them in the first place, he had no choice but to understand Michael not being there or at least suck it up.

 

Naturally, Kristin immediately demanded to know what happened to _her_ cake. Ike and Megan walk up in the middle of her harangue and Ryan’s mumbled replies. “The babies are being more mature,” Ike scolds.

 

“You didn’t see what he did to my cake!”

 

Ryan retorts, “What _Ollie_ did to –”

 

“Ollie did this?” Ike asks, surveying the remains of the strawberry shortcake.

 

“He really liked it,” Michael offers sheepishly.

 

Megan hides a smile behind her hand. “Looks like you got your wish, Mom.”

 

“ _I hope you have children_ just like you,” Ryan says, eyes wide.

 

Oh God, _no_.

 

“While knowing that makes me feel much better, it doesn’t fix _this_ , Ryan.” Kristin waves a manicured hand at the ruined cake.

 

“You don’t even know it was me. Coulda been Mike.”

 

Kristin snorts. “I know you don’t like to use the brains God gave you, but at least you married somebody who does. Like he’d let them play with the cake _because it looked so pretty_.”

 

Michael nods his thanks and – wisely, in his opinion – decides to let them duke it out. He wanders off to find the birthday boy and girl, whose attention is currently being monopolized by their eldest cousin.

 

Whitney’s sitting on the other couch with Bob, close enough for safety’s sake, but far enough Taylor can think she’s watching the twins all by herself – never mind the friends and family coming up constantly. Taylor’s making faces, trying to get a laugh out of them, but only half-succeeding. Ollie is all smiles, while Lo is decidedly unimpressed.

 

After several more tries, Taylor turns to him with a frown. “I don’t think she likes me.”

 

“She’s just a little more . . . difficult. But she likes this.” He blows a raspberry on her tummy and, predictably, Lo starts giggling. He gives her a bit to get over her giggles before he lets Taylor try.

 

Ollie starts making noises, obviously displeased to be forgotten in their quest to get a laugh out of Lo. “Daaaaa –”

 

“Yeah I know, little guy. Sisters are the worst.” 

 

“Hey!” One of his own swats at his shoulder just then.

 

“God, Hil! You don’t hit the guy holding a baby. I could’ve dropped him.”

 

“He’s tough. I’m sure he could handle it. His dad, on the other hand, is just a big old wuss –”

 

“For that, you’re not holding him.”

 

“There’s two of them. That’s the beautiful thing about twins.” Hilary picks Lo up, who giggles even louder than before when Hilary rubs noses with her. She likes Hilary. Just as he thinks that, he turns around, half-expecting to see Devon stewing in the corner about it. At Christmas, Devon took it as a personal affront that Lo started bawling the second Ike handed her off to him and only calmed down when Hil swooped in to save the day. But tonight Devon’s too busy talking to Bob – his coach Bob – to notice. He’s glad Bob took the time out despite how busy his current crop of swimmers is keeping him.

 

Speak of the devil, Allison is part of the little group by the door. Michael has to congratulate her on how Nationals are going this time –

 

“Aunt _Hilary_ –” Taylor protests behind him.

 

“Tay, you’re a big girl –”

 

“ _I_ was playing with her!”

 

Michael stage-whispers, “I think she’s gotten over the jealous phase.”

 

“Oh, good.” To Taylor, Hilary offers that they both can. Placated, Taylor follows her, clutching Lo’s beloved bear.

 

They’re not even out of his line of sight when someone walks up to him and grabs Ollie from him. “Whoa, now, wait one –”

 

It’s his mother. “Oh you be quiet. I barely see my grandbabies, you just let me enjoy this one. Who –” She sniffs. “Needs a clean diaper.”

 

How did he miss that? “Give him here –”

 

“I’m perfectly capable of changing a diaper.”

 

“Do you even know where the bag is?”

 

His mother rolls her eyes.

 

\---

 

Michael shows her into the bedroom, hoping he didn’t leave anything embarrassing out.

 

The worst of it is safely hidden away, because Ryan’s actually sticking to his taper. Getting a one-bedroom suite was done to help with that. What the books said (and Michael repeated) aside, Ryan was convinced the babies would be “like scarred for life” if anything not-PG happened in front of them – because _that_ would be what would scar _their_ children for life. That meant having the port-a-cribs in there with them was actually an effective deterrent.

 

Little cockblocks, their kids were. He’s always had a healthy respect for the ways in which his family supported him, but he now has an even healthier respect for how much more demanding supporting an athlete is as a partner. Fucking taper. Or more accurately, not-fucking taper. Ryan’s response to his half-joking _no bday sex?_ text on the big 3-0 had been a sad little _#nojeah :(_

 

Michael lays out the supplies, while his mother clucks that she’s “perfectly capable of doing it” herself. She deftly removes the used – he racks his brain to remember what he fed them today – diaper, wipes and powders, and fastens on the fresh diaper, leaving Michael with a clean-smelling, happy baby while she washes her hands.

 

He looks up to see her looking at them with a strange expression on her face. It looks like she’s about to cry.

 

“Mom? Are you –”

 

“I’m just – I’m happy for you. There was a time when I couldn’t have even begun to imagine this for you. I know it hasn’t always been easy, but you –” She sniffs. “You’ve accomplished so much and now you’ve been blessed with a beautiful family and I’m just so . . . _glad_.”

Later, when they’re all singing “Happy Birthday” to the twins, she smiles brighter than anyone.

\---

 

When all that’s left of the party is half-full glasses, dirty dessert plates and the cheesy birthday hats the twins had yanked off in under five minutes, Michael replays his mom’s words.

 

There’s a part of him that still can’t really believe it. Today, it’s been a whole year that they have the twins, nearly two years that they’ve been married and sometimes it still doesn’t seem real, that this is his life.

 

“I’m really lucky,” he tells Ryan that night. “Them, us –”

 

“Both of us,” Ryan says sleepily, looking down at the twins asleep between them on the hotel bed and then up at him.

 

Michael leans across the babies to kiss him; Ryan’s eyes flutter shut as he relaxes into it. He might tell himself he’s just that good (and he is pretty good) but he knows better: Ryan’s double was exhausting and their families – while they love them – are, too. “Go to sleep,” he murmurs, pulling Ryan’s head down to run his fingers through the curls growing in. “Meant to ask. You skipped the haircut?”

 

“Uh-huh. Ya like?”

 

“You know I do.”

 

“But Erika’s ‘a come after me with scissors.”

 

“She always ruins my fun.”

 

“Stop it, Mikey.”

 

“She does.”

 

“Nah, the . . . hair. Makin’ me sleepy.” Ryan yawns.

 

“You need to sleep.”

 

“I’mma fall asleep on top of ‘em if you keep doin’ that.”

 

“Lay down.”

 

Ryan doesn’t protest, just lies back, careful to leave space between him and Lo.

 

Michael lies on his side, on the other side of the twins, and reaches across the pillows to resume his self-appointed task. “Don’t worry. I’ll put them in the cribs after you’re asleep.”

 

“Mm-hmm,” Ryan mumbles. “Love you.”


End file.
